


Isn't It A Pity We Never Met Before

by Bouzingo



Category: Marvel
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Theatre, Biphobia, Broadway, Homophobia, Lots of Gershwin, Multi, OT4, Polyamory, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, The Winter Soldier is a movie franchise
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-06
Updated: 2015-07-12
Packaged: 2018-02-07 17:45:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 15,788
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1908081
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bouzingo/pseuds/Bouzingo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>James Barnes is a Hollywood star who has only an interminable action franchise in his future and a terrible agent in his present. His best friend and potential lover Natasha has left film altogether in favour of stage and he feels left behind.<br/>But a pause between projects allows him to go to New York, where he meets Steve Rogers, a hardworking chorus member in the Gershwin revue Barnes will soon be headlining. He is also introduced to Sam Wilson, a writer/actor who works off-Broadway and is pushing the limits of the stage with each new show he does.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

James Barnes is done the press circuit for his latest film. _The Winter Soldier: Deep Freeze_ is poised to break some box office records for the month of June and is even getting some pretty positive buzz from the critics.

Bucky is exhausted, sore from smiling all the time, and absolutely sick of seeing the same damn movie premiere in fifty different cities. It’s not quite as bad as making the same movie four times in a row yet. People have just started to notice, but he was aware of the formula from _The Winter Soldier II: Widow’s Bite_.

He should be grateful, but this isn’t what he got into acting for. And he tells his agent just that after a couple days of rest.

“I don’t even take off the mask for half the movie,” he gripes. He’s nursing his beer in the dimly lit and terribly stylish bar Pierce has brought him to for their little meeting.

“Well your eyes are so expressive, it hardly even matters,” Pierce says. “I’m not sure what you want, Jimmy. Not everyone gets to make a living doing what they love.”

“I love acting,” Bucky says, bristling at being called Jimmy, “but I also love a challenge. And doing my own stunts stopped being a challenge ages ago. Can’t you find me another job? The next Winter Soldier isn’t filming until 2016. Please, I just need a break from this role.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” Pierce frowns. “Right now I’m running damage control.”

“What did I do this time?” Bucky asks with a tired smile. “Have the tabloids decided me and Nat are finally getting married in Bora Bora?”

“I wish,” Pierce says. “It’s you and Toro Raymond this time.”

“Well,” Bucky says with a crook of his eyebrows. “Finally, they’re getting creative. And not too far off the mark, either.”

“James.”

“How much damage control would you have to do if I came out?” Bucky says, leaning back in his chair. “A bisexual Winter Soldier. There’s a plot twist they wouldn’t see coming.”

“James, if the fruit of your boredom is going to be the total destruction of your career, then I will find you something to do until the next installment,” Pierce sighs. “I don’t know why you do this to me. You were doing bit roles in b-movies and car commercials before I discovered you.”

“Thanks a lot,” Bucky says. “I’d forget if you didn’t remind me every day.”

Bucky gets home, feeling worse than he did before he went to see his agent. Though he had plenty to drink at the restaurant, he reaches for a beer as he passes through his large and underutilized kitchen. Bucky drinks even heavier during publicity tours than usual, to the point where it’s probably a problem.

This isn’t what he wanted from an acting career. He wanted to do stage and television in addition to films that people were affected by, not action movies that would be clownishly dated in fifteen years. It was his belief in school that he could make the world a better place, but he doesn’t know if the Winter Soldier does that.


	2. Chapter 2

Dino Manelli has an HBO series now. Two weeks after his Tony win, he announced that he would be starring in a new show about the Jazz Age in New York, and leaving the cast of _The Flapper_ ( _The Gershwins’ The Flapper_ , actually, but nobody actually calls it that).

“Who’s going to be your replacement?” his understudy asks while they undress after the second act. Steve Rogers plays in the ensemble when he’s not filling in for Dino, and they’re great friends. Dino laughs.

“You know, they haven’t told me,” he says. “But it would be ridiculous if they didn’t have you in mind, Steve.”

“That’s not how it works,” Steve says, without even sounding resentful. He’s been working where he loves for nearly ten years and couldn’t think of a better place than in the chorus. It’s incredible to see that kind of star power focused on the margins. “They’ll probably get someone from _Mad Men_ to fill in or something.”

“That sounds like Broadway recasting, all right,” Dino says. “Well the producer knows, but he isn’t letting on. Guess we’ll know when everyone else does.”

“Dino?” Steve says. “We’re all going to miss you, but I don’t mind telling you I am jealous that you got a television series.”

“I’d be concerned if you weren’t,” Dino says. “Come on, why don’t we get a drink?”

Steve’s show wraps up a little bit after his friend’s. Sam Wilson is already waiting at the stagedoor when Dino and Steve come out.

“And how was the crowd tonight?” he asks. “Sedate? Old? Humming along?”

“We can’t all do the weird Off-Broadway stuff,” Steve grins. While they have a pretty silver-haired attendance at _The Flapper_ , Sam’s show (described as intimate, odd, and breathtaking by the Village Voice) brings in a younger, more vocal crowd. Steve’s used his night off to see it more than once.

“Today’s weird Off-Broadway stuff is tomorrow’s Broadway hit,” Sam says, and hugs Steve, then Dino. “And Natasha Romanov was in the audience tonight. I think she likes me.”

“You think everyone likes you,” Dino says. “Little shit.”

“Well, excuse me for knowing a universal truth,” Sam says. “Anyhow, she asked us out for drinks, and are you guys down? She brought her car. _She doesn’t even drive it_.”

“I’m sure that’s better than what we had planned,” Steve says, and soon they’re all piled in Natasha Romanov’s limousine.

Natasha used to go by Rushman, back when she did Hollywood movies, a couple of historical romances that stopped when she began featuring the Winter Soldier franchise. The Black Widow was a hardbitten Soviet spy whose past with the title character was never satisfactorily explained before she left film altogether and started doing stage instead.

She’s doing _Cat on the Hot Tin Roof_ now, finishing her Tony-nominated run before going to the West End for a production of _Blithe Spirit_ alongside Peggy Carter, who still has a Mme Arcati in her before going into her long-delayed retirement.

Natasha Romanov is stunning in person. 

“Hello boys,” she says with a smile. “I’ve seen your show a couple of times now.”

“Well, I hoped you enjoyed it,” Dino says. Steve thanks God that Sam and Dino are here, because he gets tongue-tied around most women, let alone accomplished and talented women that he barely knows except from movies.

“I did!” Natasha says. “I hope it runs a good long time. And you must be Steve Rogers.”

“Uh yeah,” Steve says, looking away from the window.

“I saw you when you were covering for Mr. Manelli. Back in February.”

“Oh,” Steve says. He’s blushing and he knows Sam _knew_ because his best friend’s shoulders are shaking with silent laughter.

“You were very good,” Natasha says. “Have I seen you in anything else?”

“Unless you saw Les Mis on tour in 2009, I really doubt it,” Steve says with a self-deprecating grin. “I do a lot of ensemble work. So where are you taking us?”

“Just a little place I know. I want you guys to meet a friend of mine from Hollywood,” Natasha says. “I wager you’ll be getting to know him better over the next month, Mr. Rogers.”

“Steve’s fine,” Steve says, and visibly relaxes when Natasha stops looking at him and begins talking with Sam about his show. 

Steve’s content to hide behind Dino a little and slide into the booth beside him at the upscale bar. A photographer gets a picture Natasha and Dino.

“What you doing so far uptown, Natasha?” he asks. She smiles another photo-worthy smile.

“Just waiting on an old friend with some new ones,” she says, as a flurry of activity starts up at the front of the bar. “That’s probably him now.”

The photographer rushes over to see, and in about five minutes, James Barnes comes to their table, looking profusely apologetic. He’s wearing a really nice suit, one that would do just as well on the red carpet as it does here. Steve feels starstruck for the second time that night.

“Sorry, Nat,” James says. “The paparazzi haven’t let up since I got in the city.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Natasha says. “Sit down.”

“Sorry everyone,” he says again with a grin. He has a Brooklyn accent, Steve realizes. He hasn’t heard the guy speak outside his movies. He bends to kiss Natasha on the cheek before sitting down. “First round’s on me. I’m James, but friends call me Bucky.”

“Well this is Sam Wilson,” Natasha says. “There’s Steve Rogers and that’s Dino Manelli, who you’ve met already.”

“We haven’t actually met. It’s a pleasure,” James says, sticking out a hand. “I’m excited to join the show.”

“Oh, are you in the Jazz Age project?” Dino asks. “I still haven’t met the cast.”

“No, I’m… has Jasper told you?” James asks, and then breaks out with another laugh. “I guess I’m jumping the gun, but you’ll find out sooner or later. I’m meant to be your replacement on Broadway. Limited engagement for September.”

“No, I didn’t know that,” Dino says. “Sitwell doesn’t tell us shit.”

“I’m excited to do it,” James says, with a smile that crinkles his eyes and makes Steve’s heart go pitterpat in a really worrying way. “I used to do stage all the time before the Winter Soldier took over my life.”

“Nice work if you can get it,” Steve says, and blushes to his ears when Bucky looks at him. The full force of his gaze is on the wrong side of breathtaking. “Like the song.”

“Right,” Bucky says. “Are you in the show too?”

“I’m the understudy,” Steve says.

“Best damn understudy I’ve ever had,” Dino chimes in. Steve feels himself turning redder. “Seriously, I love this kid.”

“I guess we’ll be working together soon, then,” James says. “Is that how it works?”

“Um, generally,” Steve says, feeling more awkward than he has in ages. He sincerely hopes that James isn’t good with new acquaintances and forgets everything about this meeting by the time they have to see each other regularly.

Sam meets his eyes and gleeful understanding bursts across his face like a blush. Steve sinks deeper into his seat and orders a beer when the waitress comes around. There are too many beautiful and accomplished people at this table for him to be truly comfortable.


	3. Chapter 3

“The Rogers guy is cute,” Natasha says. It’s three in the morning, and she and Bucky are sitting on the floor of her apartment, barefoot and cups of special coffee by their sides. “Skinny, blond, adorable. Totally your type. And he’s absolutely into you. Couldn’t get two words out in front of you.”

“Ugh, Natasha don’t,” Bucky says. “I noticed, okay?”

“He’s got a pretty amazing singing voice, too,” Natasha says. “And he can dance.”

“Nooooo,” Bucky moans. “I gotta work with this guy. Gotta see him sing and dance at close range.”

Natasha laughs, and peels off her shirt to reveal a ratty black camisole underneath. The two are so comfortable with each other’s bodies that they could be stark naked and drinking and it would feel about right.

“I’m sorry. I’m tormenting you,” she says. “A little bird tells me Pierce is riding your queer ass about photos at some gay bar or other with Toro Raymond.”

“Clint’s a snitch and a loser,” Bucky says, “but he’s never wrong.”

“Bucky, you should just rip off the Band-Aid,” Natasha says. “Wear a rainbow tie and make out with Toro at a press conference or something.”

“I don’t even like Toro like that. Why can’t I make out with you instead?” Bucky mutters, “We had a thing. Kind of a thing.”

“It was a nice thing,” Natasha assures him. “And normally, I wouldn’t say no. But I’m not on the market.”

“So you and theatre are still strictly exclusive, huh?” Bucky says. “She’s a cruel mistress.”

“After I finish the run in London, I’m coming back to New York and I’m taking a break,” Natasha says. “You should ask me then, if you haven’t hooked up with that cute guy from your show. Hell, don’t be afraid to ask me anyways.”

Bucky hits her with a pillow and they dissolve into drunken giggles. He likes these nights, boozy and hot because Natasha is a skinflint who doesn’t turn on her AC until July at the earliest. There will be less of them soon, when she’s across the ocean doing what she loves.

“I want you to look after the apartment,” Natasha mutters, draped across Bucky’s chest. It is way too late, or early. Both of them are getting cravings for diner breakfast. “I gave Clint a key, but he’ll manage to fuck up spectacularly without anyone running damage control. Why don’t you stay here?”

“That would be awesome,” Bucky says. “I’ll miss you, Nat.”

“And I’ll miss you, you big sap,” Natasha promises. “Don’t do anything stupid when I’m gone.”

Bucky laughs and he lies down, Natasha’s weight a comfort on his chest. They fall asleep for about two hours, and then get up and go to a diner in last night’s clothes. It’s a nice retro place Natasha found a while ago and it smells like good pancakes. Everything’s too bright for Bucky, who has laid his sunglassed face down on the vinyl table.

“Hard night?” a warm, vaguely familiar voice asks. Bucky turns his head fractionally, and feels his stomach drop when he recognizes Steve from the show. In his periphery, he can see Natasha’s smile.

“Yeah,” he says. “How many pancakes can one person have at this joint?”

“Well, I’m not going to cut you off,” Steve says. His uniform is really cute, Bucky realizes with muted horror. All mint green and pinstripes. Jesus.

“I want a lot of pancakes,” Bucky says. “Nat?”

“Um, the all-meat breakfast. Extra meat,” Natasha says. “No toast.”

“Swell,” Steve says, and Bucky nearly dies. Who the hell says ‘swell’ anymore? “I’ll be right over with your food. Anything to drink while you wait?”

“Coffee,” they say simultaneously.

Steve leaves and Bucky raises his head slightly from the table to pin Natasha with a tortured gaze.

“You knew,” he says.

“I can neither confirm nor deny,” Natasha says. “He looks damn fine in that uniform, though. Skinny and cute isn’t really my type, but. _Swell._ ”

“You sadist,” Bucky groans. Steve comes back with their coffee pretty quickly, and smiles a bright full smile that makes Bucky come out in hives.

“So have you been here before?” he says.

“No,” Bucky says, glaring at Natasha, “This is my first time.”

“You need to try the shakes. I know it’s nine in the morning but there’s nothing better,” Steve says conspirationally.

“I’ll be good with coffee and pancakes,” Bucky says, when it’s clear Natasha won’t be any help.

“I’d like a milkshake,” Natasha says with a grin that Bucky knows too well. “How thick do they come?”

“…right. We have vanilla, chocolate and strawberry,” Steve says, a pink blush dusting his ears.

“Vanilla’s great. Extra cherries,” Natasha says, and Steve runs away, coming back soon enough with a milkshake and their food. Bucky has never seen a stack of pancakes resemble Heaven so closely before, and can almost forgive Natasha her hungover transgressions.


	4. Chapter 4

“And, what?” Sam says. “He just happened to stumble into your diner on the one morning you help out over there, with Natasha Romanov, totally hung over and begging for pancakes?”

Steve nods, still remembering how good James Barnes had looked with messy hair and sunglasses perched on his nose.

They’re in their apartment’s cramped kitchen on one of Sam’s writing breaks. Sam’s got his plaid dressing robe on and his black-rimmed glasses, his uniform for writing plays.

“Dude. He’s into you,” Sam laughs. “Maybe not as much as you’re into him, but…”

“Oh my God,” Steve says. “I’m not going to talk about this. He looked like he was as embarrassed to see me as I him.”

“Steve you always do this,” Sam says. “I bet you he was starstruck.”

“Laying it on thick, Wilson,” Steve warns. “If you’re not careful, I’ll fall in love.”

Steve’s being a little disingenuous; he fell in love with Sam Wilson from the moment they met.

It’s easy for Steve to fall in love, with just about anyone and everyone, often at overlapping times. A fairly liberating concept in theory, but Steve finds it frustrating, to say the least. He knows about soulmates; working on Broadway has made him in an expert in impossible love that comes with duets and dances.

Steve doesn’t know if there are many people out there who dream of the same thing he does, a full house of people in love with each other in every way. When he’d tried to mention it to the few partners he had, they had never understood, possibly because he was bad at explaining himself. So these days he keeps it to himself, and he doesn’t really date anymore.

He’s never tried to tell Sam how he feels. Their arrangement as roommates and friends is better without the mess that comes with confessions of desire, and Sam, well Sam's always been a bit more complicated than that.

“Your brow is furrowing,” Sam says. “What are you thinking about?”

“James Barnes and his dumb sunglasses indoors,” Steve smiles easily. Sam laughs.

“Priceless man. Wish I could have been there to see it,” he grins, pours himself another coffee before returning to his computer. His writing break is over.

Sam’s a pretty busy guy; his play is getting published and he’s been doing talks here and there for small theatre magazines and websites. At the moment he’s neckdeep writing a commissioned work that is planned for La Jolla’s 2015-16 season.

Steve leaves the house before Sam does; he has his pre-show warm-up and dance call to attend, while Sam isn’t acting in his show anymore, and prefers to watch from backstage.

Sam watches him go, wearing a thick woolen scarf and two jackets of conflicting colours. Kid’s adorable when he’s bundled up. A couple minutes later, someone knocks on the door. Sam sighs and gets up to answer, ready to tease Steve for forgetting his keys.

It’s not Steve.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Wilson,” Natasha Romanov says. “Is Steve here?”

“He just left for dance call,” Sam says apologetically, taking off his glasses. “Did you forget something at the diner or something?”

Natasha laughs.

“No, I just wanted to apologize for this morning. I’m afraid I was out of line,” she says. “I’m leaving for London this evening and I won’t have a chance otherwise. Could you tell him for me?”

“No problem,” Sam says. “You wanna come in for a coffee? I’m making a new pot.”

“I have time before I have to leave for my flight,” Natasha says.

They end up at the table where Sam has all his books and notes for his commissioned work, fresh coffee in both their cups and a couple of cookies on a plate between them. It’s more like a date than anything Sam’s had in ages.

“So,” Sam says, “You know where me and Steve live. That’s kind of creepy.”

“Not especially. I had my chauffeur drop you here last night after drinks,” Natasha says. “She has a good memory for New York.”

“Fair,” Sam says. “Do you go out of your way to apologize to everyone you might embarrass, or just the people that James Barnes is interested in?”

Natasha’s expression betrays nothing, which really tells Sam all he needs to know.

“He has to work with Steve soon,” she says. “Wouldn’t want him to get off on the wrong foot.”

“Nearly impossible with Steve,” Sam promises. “Unless you were total assholes, he gives everyone a fair shake. Speaking of, did you really ask Steve how thick his milkshake was? Do you have someone ghostwriting your pickup lines?”

Natasha laughs and so does he.

“That was more for Barnes’ benefit than Steve’s. That’s why I wanted to apologize,” she says. “It’s not right to mix strangers into the stupid mind games you play with your friends.”

“Considerate of you,” Sam says. “So you and Barnes aren’t together?”

“Not anymore,” Natasha says. “It was easier to be together when our schedules were in synch. Then I had my career switch, and it wasn’t so easy. I guess it turned out to be a relationship of convenience in the end.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“What about you and Steve?” Natasha says.

“Nah,” Sam says, running a hand through his hair, which has been getting a bit long for his tastes. “Not that there’s anything wrong with Steve. It’s um… I don’t really date. My last relationship ended kind of abruptly, and I just don’t think I’m ready yet.”

Riley still hurts, like a toothache he forgets about until he bites down hard enough. So he doesn’t bite down. He just keeps working on what he’s good at, puts on a brave face until Riley doesn’t hurt quite as much.

Their wedding rings still hang around his neck on a silver chain, tucked underneath his robe and his shirt.

“Well, you need to get back on that horse, Sam Wilson,” Natasha says. “And I need to get to my flight. Want a ride to your show?”

“I think I might just stay in today,” Sam says. “Thanks for the offer though.”

Natasha smiles, and takes a cookie with her. Sam waits until she’s gone.

“Well, that doesn’t happen every day does it, Wilson?” he mutters.


	5. Chapter 5

Steve drinks his coffee. He’s sitting in the rehearsal space with the other cast members needed to rehearse James Barnes, who to his credit showed up early and is practicing lines while he waits.

The choreographer, Maria Hill, shows up a little late.

“Sorry everyone,” she says, pulling off her jacket and throwing it against the wall. “Parking was hell. Let’s warm up.”

Rehearsing someone to fill in for an established performance is different than originating a role. This is something Steve knows, being a perennial understudy. While there is room to put in one’s own inflections to a role, choreo, blocking and scenework have to stay pretty much the same.

James does it well. They get three numbers down and work on a bit of dialogue, and by rehearsal’s end any worries the cast might have had about an action star coming into the show have been assuaged.

But when James comes to him after the rehearsal, matinee smile directed at him in full force, Steve feels his chest tighten with palpable anxiety mixed with infatuation.

“Hi,” James says.

“Hi,” Steve says. “Good rehearsal.”

“Thanks, it means a lot coming from you,” he says genuinely. “I was thinking we might drill lines? Um, maybe over dinner, or coffee.”

“Are you asking me out?” Steve says with a slow smile that he can’t stop.

“Maybe,” James says. “Are you saying yes?”

“I’ll run lines with you,” Steve says. “And maybe I’ll say yes to coffee.”

“It’s your night off tonight, isn’t it?” James says.

“It sure is,” Steve says. “And I have plans.”

Steve puts his first jacket on, and then knots his scarf around his neck. Then he pulls on his other jacket. He has a lingering fear of getting sick, from a youth that was plagued with all kind of illness and the show-business wide paranoia of laryngitis. Then he shoulders his bag and leaves.

It’s only when Steve is walking down the street, entertaining the thought of Chinese takeaway for his night off, that he realizes that he totally turned down James Barnes.

Maybe Sam is right. Maybe he is a self-saboteur.

Steve comes back to the apartment with a huge amount of dim sum and Shanghai noodles and a hankering for a Star Wars marathon.

“Hey, good evening,” Sam says. Steve sets his Chinese down, a little surprised.

“I thought you’d be out for your play,” he says. Sam sighs, gestures to his computer.

“Commission work is a blessing and a curse,” he explains. “So how was James Barnes? Does the Winter Soldier have a good two-step?”

“He did very well,” Steve says. “And then he asked me to drill lines with him.”

“Drill lines, pfft,” Sam says. “Oldest one in the book. Did you say yes?”

Steve doesn’t answer, and Sam drops his jaw.

“You turned him down,” he says. “Aw man. I feel way better about turning Natasha Romanov down now.”

“Yeah, I feel pretty stupid, gotta say… you what?” Steve asks suddenly. “When did that happen?”

“The same day she came to the diner,” Sam says. “At least I think that’s what happened. She came in for coffee.”

“Well look at us,” Steve says. “Snubbing Hollywood royalty like it’s nothing.”

“Yeah, well,” Sam says, gaze going a little distant. “It’s a bit too close to the anniversary for me to really think about that.”

Steve pauses. Sam still doesn’t really talk about Riley, though it’s been years. Riley was, and is, the love of Sam’s life.

“Have some noodles with me,” Steve says. “I’m going to watch Star Wars.”


	6. Chapter 6

The press junket never ends, not really. James Barnes puts on his smile and sits in the chair opposite today’s so-called journalist. They talk about the new movie, how well it’s doing and what the ending means for the Winter Soldier in the next one and Bucky was so used to being treated like an actual actor and a person during rehearsal that this is frankly quite jarring.

And then the questions about his personal life come out. Bucky has been given a hundred formulaic answers and dodges; an insinuating eyebrow at the mention of Nat’s name, laughs and handwaves at Toro’s. But tonight he feels worn thin, and he has been drinking a bit more than usual.

“You don’t seem concerned with the gay rumours, James,” the reporter says.

“Well, Fred,” Bucky says, leans back in his chair. “That’s because I’m not gay.”

Fred opens his mouth to say something, but Bucky continues.

“I’m bi,” he says cheerfully. “I like women and men.”

“Um,” Fred says. “Is this off the record?”

“No,” Bucky says. “It most certainly is not.”

“Your agent didn’t okay this,” Fred says, and visibly recoils. “I think I have enough here, thanks for your time.”

“You’re not going to publish that, are you?” Bucky says resigned.

“Are you kidding? Your agent would bury me. Literally. He wallpapers his house with the skins of reporters that go off script when they talk to you,” Fred says. “I don’t know what your game is, but tomorrow’s interview is going to be about the Winter Soldier and your new stage work.”

“So much for journalistic integrity,” Bucky grumbles.

“I write for a film magazine, Barnes,” Fred says. “Take your big gay admission to the Times if you have to.”

He leaves soon after, and Bucky smiles emptily at the space in front of him, and orders another bottle of wine because he can. He’s rich and famous and he’ll be in the closet for as long as he lives. It’s not too long after that he’s drunk-texting Natasha.

N//Do you even know what time it is in London?

B//Idk late? :P

N//Early, actually. What do you want?

B//nobody wil ou t me :(

N//You’re drunk. Go to bed.

B//im going t owatch my movie iN A CINEMA

N//Bucky no

B//bucky yessss

B//ill ask steve to +1

B//hes cute and nce and he said he d do lines with me


	7. Chapter 7

Sam answers the phone before it wakes his roommate up. It’s the middle of the night but he’s up, like he almost always is.

“Hello, Sam Wilson speaking.”

“Hi, is Steve home? It’s Bucky Barnes.”

It sounds like Bucky, but it also sounds like he’s painstakingly extricating his words out of treacle.

“He’s sleeping,” Sam says. “Some of us do that at night.”

“Oh,” Bucky says, and though he doesn’t say anything, is still on the line.

“Are you drunk?” Sam says with a frown.

“I’m pretty drunk, yeah. I wanted to see a movie. My movie, actually. I hear the acting is all right,” Bucky says, laughs at his own joke. “If Steve is decommish do you want to come?”

“Are you asking me out? At three in the morning?”

“No,” Bucky says and there’s another long pause. “I’m just… got nobody to take with me.”

Sam sighs, because he doesn’t feel right leaving someone stranded in New York drunk off their ass and obviously very lonely. He wasn’t sleeping tonight anyway.

“Where you at,” he asks, grabbing his jacket.

He finds Bucky outside an all-night movie theatre in Brooklyn which is indeed showing _The Winter Soldier: Deep Freeze_. This is definitely up there in terms of the most surreal things that have ever happened to Sam.

“You didn’t have to buy my ticket,” is all he can think of to say.

“I figured I might as well since I was dragging you out of bed,” Bucky says. “It’s not a big deal. They know me here and I get a discount.”

“Don’t they know you everywhere?” Sam says. Bucky grins.

“Yeah, but this is where I grew up,” he grins. “I worked here before I started acting.”

“Steve said he thought you were a Brooklyn boy,” Sam says.

“Does Steve talk about me a lot?” Bucky says hopefully.

“Don’t push it dude,” Sam says, arms crossing. “I only came out here because I thought that you were a danger to yourself.”

Bucky laughs.

“Who says I’m not? I tried to destroy my career today,” he says confidentially. “Now let’s go watch my shitty movie before I do something else stupid.”

Film and photographs don’t do James Barnes justice, Sam thinks with a sinking feeling in his gut. His eyes, bright with drink and mirth, are bluer in person, and his hair is really nice. He is really beautiful, in a way only a movie star could be, and it hits Sam like a punch in the gut.

The movie starts rolling pretty much as soon as they come in with popcorn, the only ones in the theatre. Bucky turns to Sam.

“So you know, I’ve seen this movie like fifty times,” he says quite seriously.

“That’s okay. I’ll bring you to my play one day and we’ll call it even,” Sam says. It doesn’t even occur to him that he’s basically asking Bucky on a date until the overblown title card shows up on screen.

It’s a good thing they’re the only ones in the theatre, because their viewing experience is mostly just Sam asking Bucky if he did that stunt, or if the arm hurts as much as it looks, or if he did _that_ stunt.

“They didn’t let me jump off the building because I’m not insured for enough,” Bucky says. “But I did pretty much everything else.”

“So that totally gratuitous backflip back there?”

“Yup,” Bucky grins. “And this thing coming up.”

On screen, the Winter Soldier scowls, runs onto a moving car and parkours to an overpass without even breaking a sweat. He turns around and shoots two pursuers and then walks away.

“That is ridiculous. What is this movie even about,” Sam says.

“I don’t even know anymore,” Bucky says. “I just remember the arm was scorching when I did this bit. It was the middle of August.”

“Nasty,” Sam says sympathetically. “The stuff I’ve had to wear under stage lights could get pretty ridiculous too.”

“I thought you were a writer,” Bucky says, turning to him in confusion while explosions go off on screen.

“I’m both. But mostly a playwright, yeah,” Sam says. “I have an Obie for writing, so people tend to credit me as such.”

Bucky’s wide eyes consider him for a long, uncomfortable moment, and Sam’s hand unconsciously goes to the wedding rings around his neck.

“Natasha really likes your plays,” Bucky finally says.

“Funny. She didn’t mention when she visited,” Sam says.

“She wouldn’t. She’s shy,” Bucky says, and turns back to the movie. Sam does the same, and he really has to wonder what he’s doing, because these last two weeks have turned out weird.

Walking home at six in the morning in New York is an experience Sam hasn’t had since his college days, and certainly not one he’s had stone sober. Bucky’s quiet beside him; he suddenly looks exceedingly uncomfortable in yesterday’s clothes.

“You and Steve are together,” Bucky says, doesn’t even phrase it like a question. He’s disappointed, Sam realizes.

“We’re not,” he says. “We’re just roommates. Friends.”

“Oh,” Bucky says, colours a little. Then a look like offense crosses his face. “Why the hell not? He’s wonderful.”

“And don’t I know it,” Sam says. “It’s more complicated than that. I lost someone.”

Bucky’s face falls, and he’s on the verge of an apology that Sam handwaves.

“I don’t really broadcast it,” he says, and pulls out the chain with the rings from underneath his jacket. “He died in Afghanistan, three years ago, just a bit after we made it official and got married. They say ‘til death do you part, but I feel like I’m still with him, and every time I’ve tried to date someone, it just hasn’t been fair to them. I don’t want to go that road with Steve.”

This is a weird topic of conversation, though to be honest it feels perfectly natural at this weird time of day, when the sun hasn’t quite warmed the streets yet.

“What was his name?” Bucky asks. “Your husband.”

“Riley,” Sam says with a reminiscent smile. They walk back in silence.


	8. Chapter 8

“I don’t get it,” Bucky says to Hill while they warm up. Hill’s got a good head on her shoulders, a great work ethic, and working with her is kind of like working with a fight choreographer, which is familiar to Bucky and therefore comforting. “He’s got this role down, and he’s obviously really good at it. Why isn’t he replacing Dino?”

“Thinking of jumping ship, Barnes?” Hill asks. “I can think of a couple reasons why you’re headlining and not Steve. First one is money, obviously. _The Flapper_ runs for a few more months to a fuller house with you in the lead instead of someone who used to be in the ensemble. Everyone stays employed, and it’s great. That’s just how the business goes. Second one is Steve can’t sustain.”

“How do you mean?” Bucky frowns. Maria laughs, not unkindly.

“He’s buff, but that’s due to a lot of hard work and therapy. He gets sick. Did a tour of Les Mis once and he nearly died,” she says seriously. “He catches everything. He catches stuff he’s been inoculated for. You’ve caught him at the sweet spot between allergies and flu season.”

“How’s he stay in the business for so long if he’s sick all the time?”

“Pure force of will, as far as I can discern,” Maria says. “I don’t think anyone works as hard as him for as little return. But you didn’t answer my question.”

“What question was that?”

“Once, I was working a revival of _Sweet Charity_. We had a star replacement come in, let’s call her Clara Nessica Barker, but she cancelled at the last minute. Ages of rehearsals, wasted, loads of ticket returns, the show closed sooner than expected and I was unemployed for six months before I could get in at Glimmerglass for some weird interpretive dance opera thing based on _Equus_ ,” Maria says with a palpable shudder. “So if you’re thinking of dropping out, you better do it sooner rather than later. Otherwise you’re going to see why I could have worked for Black Ops if I hadn’t had a song in my heart and a dance in my step. Okay?”

“I’m not dropping out,” Bucky says. “I got something to prove.”

Maria nods, pursing her lips together.

“I can see why he likes you,” she says.

“You mean Steve?” Bucky asks. She just smiles, and claps her hands together to get everyone’s attention.

“Warm-up’s over people!” she yells. “Let’s do the number; half-time for Barnes.”

Truth is Bucky and his formidable muscle memory could do this number at full-time and blindfolded. But it’s early and though everyone is young and energetic, it’s still a fucking Monday.

Sharon, his dance partner, does most of the fancy footwork anyway. She’s an incredible and funny performer, one hundred percent the real deal. Bucky loves working with her. 

After they’ve rehearsed the number to Maria’s satisfaction, they’re put on break and Sharon runs over to Steve, who’s pulling on his scarf already.

“What are you doing for lunch, Steve?” she asks.

“Not you, Sharon,” Steve says, and they both laugh. Bucky chokes on the mouthful of water he was going to swallow and stares while they make plans, body language clearly saying ‘ex who is now cool.’ That’s… unexpected.

“Yo Barnes,” Sharon says. “Steve’s wondering if you’re free for lunch?”

“Sure,” Bucky says, hoping he doesn’t sound too eager.

“Sweet. I’ll be off then,” Sharon says. “I’m meeting Leila for our anniversary. Have fun you two!”

“I decided to take you up on coffee,” Steve says, awkwardly running a hand through his adorable goddamn hair. “I mean, if you’re still offering.”

“I’m always offering,” Bucky says, and they lapse into awkward silence. “That was weird huh?”

“A little. I’m usually the weird one,” Steve says with a grin. “Let’s go. I know a good place for Thai.”


	9. Chapter 9

It’s a tiny hole in the wall with just a few tables, but the whole place smells of good food and the little old lady at the counter smiles when she sees Steve, who grins back and takes the table in the back corner like it was reserved for him.

“One of the best places to eat in New York,” Steve says, putting on black thick-rimmed glasses to read the menu. “Barely anyone knows about it.”

“Oh my god,” Bucky laughs. “You’re a hipster.”

Steve glares at him over those glasses.

“I’m not,” he says sternly. “I’ve just lived in this city my whole life. And you have to try the phanaeng goong.”

“Okay,” Bucky says, still grinning evilly. Steve smiles too after a moment, and takes the glasses off, to Bucky’s chagrin.

“S’why I don’t wear the glasses,” he says, “except when I have to read.”

“You far-sighted?”

“Oh yeah,” Steve says in a wry deadpan, “and colourblind. And deaf in one ear. It’s why they wouldn’t let me be a pilot.”

“No way,” Bucky says. “I wouldn’t have known unless you told me.”

“Which? That I had a promising career in the skies, or that I’m deaf in one ear?” Steve says. He’s joking but Bucky can see he’s got his guard up. Smooth, Barnes.

“My sister’s deaf is all,” he says, “And my ASL is gettin’ rusty because I hardly ever see the guy who’s supposed to be looking after the apartment I’m at.”

_You mean Natasha Romanov’s apartment?_ Steve signs easily, finger-spelling Nat’s name with a roll of his eyes. His signing is obviously slower than he’s used to, moderated for Bucky, who signs back at around his own speed to give Steve an idea.

_How does everyone know I’m living at Nat’s?_

_Paps_ Steve says, signing for pap smears when he means paparazzi, which makes Bucky laugh. _Get in everything. Like sand. This is nice. I usually only sign with Sam and the guys that interpret our show sometimes._

_Sam knows ASL?_ Bucky asks.

_He knows everything, I’m pretty sure,_ Steve says, and then the small lady comes over to take their order. Bucky orders the phanaeng goong and Steve orders spring rolls and a soup.

“So, tell me about yourself, Steve Rogers,” Bucky Barnes says.

“Shouldn’t have to,” Steve grins. “You’ve been milking my friends for info since day one.”

“That might be true,” Bucky says. “But you have Wikipedia on your side and I just have bootlegs from when you were doing Les Mis in Arkansas. So.”

“Oh God,” Steve says, blushing down to his neck.

“You have a very dedicated and sweet fanbase on the Internet,” Bucky says. “Much gentler than mine.”

“Yeah, I’m like one of the top five Marius understudies from 2009 or something,” Steve says with a smile that’s actually pretty flattered. “But tell me about yourself. Your article on Wikipedia is actually really pared down.”

“What do you want to know?” Bucky says, spreading his arms. “I’m an open book.”

“Okay,” Steve says, and thinks very hard. “What’s your favourite movie? You can’t say any of the ones you’ve been in.”

“Seriously? You’re not going to ask me about my personal life?”

“I thought I was your personal life,” Steve says with a crook of his eyebrows, “unless you and Natasha Romanov are really and truly a thing.”

“Well you got me there,” Bucky says. “My favourite movie is _Beauty and the Beast_. Either that or _Terminator 2_. I had a huge crush on Sarah Connor when I was a kid. What’s yours?”

“ _Funny Face_ ,” Steve says. “Both my childhood crushes are in that one.”

It’s a long conversation, and maybe the easiest one that Bucky’s had in a long time. After a lunch that was more talk than food, they walk back to Steve’s apartment together; Steve usually reads and relaxes before his dance call.

“This was nice,” Steve says. “Look, my next night off is soon, and if you’re okay with it, I thought we might...”

“That sounds great,” Bucky says.

“I didn’t even say what I wanted to do,” Steve laughs, and Bucky leans over and kisses him, right there on the steps to his apartment. Steve’s mouth is warm and wet and Bucky can taste the oversweet candy the Thai place gave them with their checks.


	10. Chapter 10

“It’s all over the tabloids. It’s on the internet,” Pierce says. There’s a crease in his forehead that Bucky feels might become permanent.

“It’s a great photo,” he says with a smile that barely covers his hangover. “People are saying it’s iconic.” 

Pierce smiles back and it cows Bucky a little, though he’s a good enough actor that he isn’t about to let it show.

“You know what I did yesterday, James?” he asks. “I called Brock Rumlow. He has a wife and a beautiful child, as well as a very impressive resume in the movies I strive to be a part of. I am having him fitted for the arm this week.”

“I don’t care,” Bucky says. “Replace me with Brock Rumlow. He probably wants this more than I do.”

“Then you’re going to walk out on your contract?” Pierce says. “Stupid even for you. What’ve you got lined up after a two-month engagement in a play that could close at any moment?”

Bucky stares at Pierce, trying not to let on how his agent’s (ex-agent?) words actually affect him.

“I’ll do something else,” he says bluntly. “Whatever I want.”

“Well good luck,” Pierce says, smiling growing wider. “I’m curious to see if your career goes anywhere but south after this.”

“Thank you for those inspiring words of confidence,” Bucky says. His phone is buzzing in his pocket. He reaches for it as he gets up to leave. “Go fuck yourself. And then go fuck the fucking Winter Soldier.”

He leaves that office, hopefully for the last time, and answers his phone.

“I am calling collect,” Natasha says without any preamble. “You kissed him?”

“I sure did,” Bucky says. “And I think I’ve been released from my film contract? I don’t know. I’ll make my lawyer call Pierce’s lawyer and we’ll see.”

“You’re drunk.”

“No, hungover,” Bucky says. “My best decisions were made when I was hungover. I’m about to get drunk, probably? And then maybe I’ll go kiss my boyfriend in the middle of the city again. I don’t know.”

“Bucky, if you’ve thrown away your movie career for a boy you’ll also throw away because of your carelessness…”

“I’m not being careless,” Bucky says. “I’m pretty sure I’m in love.”

“You say that about everyone you meet,” Natasha sighs. “God, Bucky.”

“I have to go,” Bucky says. “I’m very busy avoiding this talk.”

He hangs up before Natasha can say more, and then checks for a text from Steve. It’s been radio silence since the end of their date, and Bucky’s worried Steve’s pissed, though he wouldn’t be surprised.

Bucky checks his phone again as he sits down in his favourite bar, a dive where anonymity is actually a given. He checks his phone again on his fourth drink, to avoid making eyes at the young man sitting across from him at the bar. And finally, he checks it just as he gets a text from an unknown number. He frowns and fumbles with his touchscreen before he reads the message.

S:// Hey, it’s Sam. Steve can’t text. He’s in the hospital.

Bucky swears under his breath and texts back.

B:// Shit, he ok?

S:// No, he’s in the hospital. Lung stuff. Nothing from you when you two swapped spit, don’t worry.

B:// You know about that

S:// There are reporters outside my apartment building and the picture was on my facebook feed this morning. Everyone knows.

B:// Does Steve?

S:// I don’t know. Lung stuff.

Bucky frowns, thumbs hesitating over his keyboard. He doesn’t know if it’s presumptuous to ask if he should see Steve, especially after only a first date, but this is a different set of circumstances and he feels like he should at least try to get Steve on the same page. Luckily, Sam texts again.

S:// I’m sending you his hospital and ward number. He wants to see you.

B:// Thanks. I’ll be there.


	11. Chapter 11

Bucky gets to the hospital only a little intoxicated and is given access to Steve’s ward pretty promptly. Nothing like a bit of celebrity influence in his favour to open doors.

Steve’s sitting up in bed, a tube up his nose and looking mildly irritated while he reads a book. There are several get well cards on his bedside table and Bucky feels like a tool because he didn’t bring anything except his own sorry and kinda drunk self. Steve looks up when Bucky knocks on the doorframe awkwardly and his face brightens a little.

“Hey,” he says.

“Hey,” Bucky says, coming in and feeling far too big for the room. “Sam texted me.”

“Oh good,” Steve grins, putting the book away. “Worried you’d thought I’d cut and run after our kiss showed up in the papers.”

“The tabloids,” Bucky corrects. “I might have thought that a little. Mostly I figured you were pissed.”

“Why would I be?” Steve says. “It was a good kiss. And apparently a real photogenic one.”

Bucky drums his fingers on the side of his thigh. He doesn’t want to explain that he was desperately, irrationally scared for Steve’s career, before he remembered that not everyone was as stiflingly closeted as he was. He settles with another fake matinee idol grin and shrugs.

“Guess I’m just paranoid, is all,” he says easily, and sits down beside Steve. “So Sam didn’t really elaborate about why you were here.”

“Lung stuff,” Steve sighs. “I love living in the city, but the humidity and the smog sometimes get the better of me, especially in the middle of summer. So um… I got pneumonia in the middle of August. On the bright side, Eli Bradley is probably the best swing working on Broadway and he’s covering me. So at least folks are still getting a good show. I guess you’ll meet him when you start your run.”

“You won’t be there for that?”

Steve sighs heavily again, and coughs.

“Sorry,” he says. “I’ll probably get out of the hospital in a week, and then it’s bed rest until my chest doesn’t hurt when I breathe. And even after, I still have to stay off my feet and won’t be ready to give a hundred percent to eight shows a week.”

He seems a little depressed by the prospect.

“Um, this is what you’re getting into, if you want to keep on going with dates and stuff,” he says. “Lots of hospital visits and cancelled plans. I have to take a shitton of medications even when I’m feeling good, and that’s less often than I’d like it to be. It’s okay if you can’t handle that. Others couldn’t. And either way, I am really sorry that I can’t watch your back in the show.”

Bucky takes his hand gently.

“That’s okay. I felt kinda silly playing the same role as you when it’s clear you’re better at it,” he says, eyes crinkling with a real smile. He hasn’t smiled genuinely in too long.

“Eli is better than you, too,” Steve mutters, and then laughs at Bucky’s shocked expression.

“You’re such a fucking punk,” he says. “You know that?”

“Punk? Are you my granddad?” Steve laughs, nose wrinkling.

“Was your granddad devilishly charming and attractive?”

“Unlike a certain eyesore in this room, yeah,” Steve says. 

“Don’t get so mushy on me Rogers, people will say we’re in love,” Bucky says quite seriously. Neither of them can keep a straight face for very long, though, because they’re laughing again in a couple seconds, Steve trying valiantly not to dislodge his cannula.

“What’s so damn funny, you two?” Sam asks as he comes through the door. He’s got two greasy bags of fast food and Bucky is drunk enough to have cravings for precisely that amount of grease.

“Thinks he’s cute,” Steve says, jabbing a thumb in Bucky’s direction. “Why are you here? And with food?”

“It’s not for you, sicko,” Sam says. “I got lonely in the flat. Couldn’t concentrate. Figured I’d bring a snack for your boytoy and myself and work here.”

“You are an angel,” Bucky says.

“Even got my own wings,” Sam responds lightly. “Hope you like burgers.”


	12. Chapter 12

“I thought you were dating Bucky Barnes?” Peggy Carter asks nonchalantly while they sip tea on break. Natasha pauses and sets her cup down.

“Sort of,” she explains. Peggy nods in understanding. “We both hated the movie we were in and that was all we had in common because we’d just met. So we split once we got to know each other better. We’re good friends now.”

“Did you know he was gay?”

“Bisexual,” Natasha says. “But yeah. It was a big secret for him to keep, and I guess he couldn’t keep it anymore.”

“You have secrets too,” Peggy says, not even phrasing it as a question. Someone who has lived long as she has and made her living off of perception and empathy is impossible to stay nuanced around.

“Well,” Natasha says with a quiet smile. “Nobody would care if I spilled. I keep them out of habit I guess, and that takes away all the stress of it, honestly.”

“I thought that when I was young,” Peggy says. “And it turned out I only kept secrets because I didn’t know who I was. Now I know it is easier to be an open book when you’re constantly in the public eye. People get bored of someone with nothing to hide.”

“Maybe I don’t want people to be bored with me just yet,” Natasha says thoughtfully. Peggy laughs, and pours herself another cup of tea.

“I like working with young,” she says. “You so often think that you know everything. And sometimes you’re right.”

“I mean no disrespect,” Natasha says hastily. “I’m honoured to work with you, Peggy.”

“I know. It is refreshing not to be taken for granted, particularly from an American,” Peggy smiles. “You will have great things ahead of you if you treat your work with the same reverence that you do now.”

“Thank you,” Natasha says, gobsmacked. “It truly means so much to hear you say that to me.”

Peggy smiles, and then it’s back to business.

“Now, your delivery in this particular scene is lovely, but I was thinking of a different approach. Nothing too drastic, just something new for us to try in rehearsal. Let’s muddle through the usual way, and then we’ll try this new idea I’ve had.”

“Let’s do it,” Natasha says.

She loves working in London, likes throwing herself completely in a work without any distractions. Though, Bucky is certainly doing his best to be a distraction, even from across an ocean. It seems like a week can’t pass without a crisis of some kind happening on the Barnes side of things. Natasha is glad she left that when she did.

Though some days she’s not that glad. And most days she is very lonely. She bears loneliness differently from how Bucky does. She makes many connections to many different people, but she doesn’t let them in beyond a certain point. She has only a few dear friends, and maintaining those connections are exhausting. She avoids it when she can.

Rehearsal finishes with many more notes. Natasha loves notes, loves diving into every single aspect of her character, even for something light like a Coward comedy. She heads back to her sublet apartment in the heart of the West End and takes her hair out of its bun, lets herself unwind even as she walks down the street.

On the newspaper stand on the way home, a tabloid’s cover was Bucky kissing that sweet chorus boy from his show. It’s a beautiful picture. Natasha reckons Bucky should get it framed, and texts him telling him so.

She picks up her mail from the front desk. It’s mostly invitations to film festivals, a couple of perfume samples and jewelry from houses that she wears. There’s also a thick package from New York. She glances at the sender, peppers red when she sees Sam Wilson’s name.

Her answering machine is lighting up with requests for interviews and interest pieces. Natasha makes room in her schedule for the Telegraph, then a queer magazine that swears up and down they don’t want to talk about James Barnes, and lastly an entertainment blog that sounds interesting. A photoshoot is also hesitantly penciled in for the weekend; a girl can always do with new clothes.

She deletes the rest, pausing at a film producer who wants her to do a period piece. The filming would be after her theatre run concluded, and the production is in Manchester. She saves the message and makes a note to contact him back.

Clerical work done, Natasha changes into her pyjamas and pours herself a glass of wine, gets homemade brownies from the fridge, and turns on her television to a mopey BBC series with muted colours and gorgeous cheekbones. This is most weeknights for Natasha, and most of the time it’s the way she likes. This evening, for some reason, she misses Bucky Barnes and it’s a little distracting.

She opens her package from Sam Wilson halfway through her glass of wine. There’s a handwritten note on top of the manuscript, which looks like it was done on a typewriter.

_Hello Ms. Romanov,  
I hope this isn’t odd, but your friend mentioned to me that you were a fan. I’ve been cleaning house and I thought you would appreciate this. It’s my finalized draft of ‘Wings are for the Birds’, which I think you know is playing right now. It was also the copy I used for rehearsals when we were opening, so it has my notes written in about staging, blocking, etc.  
Break a leg in ‘Blithe Spirit!’ Opening in a new city can be the most exciting thing in the world._

It’s signed in dark blue ink and Natasha feels a flutter in her chest. This is the most thoughtful gift she’s received unsolicited in a long time, and it’s from a playwright she admires and would love to work with.

Natasha gets up and to find her stationary. She’s going to write him back.


	13. Chapter 13

“Oh look, your crush,” Steve mutters groggily from his hospital bed as he drifts back into a waking state. Sam looks up from his copy of the Telegraph, which he’s folded to the leisure section. There’s a pretty nice picture of Natasha Romanov that accompanies her interview.

“It’s not a crush. It’s a healthy respect for a pretty fine actress. Think Noel Coward and Gertrude Lawrence,” Sam says, pushing his thick-rimmed glasses further up the bridge of his nose. “How are you feeling? You’ve been sort of in and out all day today.”

Steve makes a so-so gesture with his hand and sits up slightly. His chest still hurts a lot and all this sleeping is making him feel gritty and gross, but he’s feeling better now than he did even a couple of days ago, which must be something.

“I can’t be very good company,” he says quietly. Sam snorts.

“You hardly ever are,” he says, half-joking. “I’m not staying for the company. On this particular day, I don’t want to be alone but I don’t want to go out.”

And it hits Steve like a ton of bricks.

“Didn’t realize that was today,” he says. “Christ, I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault you got sick, Steve,” Sam says, waving a hand in dismissal. “I already visited his grave this morning, and it’s not like I had any other plans.”

“How was it?”

“Pretty much the same as ever. His sister said she would try to visit with me, but something came up,” Sam says. “Got him some flowers, talked at the plot. Same as last year.”

“You feeling okay?” Steve says.

“Man, I’m not going to unload while you’re lying there in a hospital bed,” Sam says.

“I’m not going to relapse if you do,” Steve says. “Sam, today’s the only day out of 365 you let yourself talk about this. Please don’t keep it to yourself just because I’m under the weather.”

And Sam is grateful for that, because honestly he hasn’t had anyone else to talk about this with, except his psychiatrist, who’s on holiday and fairly useless anyways.

“Today didn’t suck as much as it usually does. Which was a nice surprise. But I still got his ring around my neck and it weighs me down. I miss him,” he says. 

“Me too,” Steve says.

“You know, the first few months, I tried convincing myself the place was haunted,” Sam says, “Because I wanted to find signs of him still being around. Totally irrational, I know, but sometimes I still do that. Now and again I can’t find a book, or my pen, and I think Riley’s took it, like ghosts do. Sometimes pretending I’m haunted is easier than accepting he’s gone.”

Sam doesn’t cry anymore when he talks about Riley. He did at the beginning, and it was hard to see him in the morning when he was red-eyed and sleepless. But it can be harder to see Sam totally dry-eyed and conveying his shattering pain in a way that sounds like he’s just telling a story. Steve swallows drily.

“You still love him,” he says.

“Yeah,” Sam says. “I know I should be moving on, meeting other people, but it hurts to do that. Because I already _had_ everything, and it was taken away. And starting over… I think about the ways people could be taken away from me. An IED, a car accident. Hate crime, an aneurysm. I can’t think about that all the time or I wouldn’t be able to function. But Riley’s already dead. Nothing else can happen to him. So I can love him safely.”

Sam takes a deep breath, and some of the tension leaves his shoulders.

“Feels better when I say it,” he says quietly. “I like talking to you more than my shrink.”

“Any time,” Steve says. “Seriously. Any time you need to talk about him. I don’t care if I’m hacking up a lung.”

“You know you are a treasure, you big sap?” Sam says with a small smile.

“Damn right,” Steve responds. “And don’t you forget it.”

Sam laughs and goes back to his Natasha Romanov’s interview in the Telegraph.

He’ll admit to himself later, maybe not today, that he has more than a healthy respect for her.


	14. Chapter 14

“So your film career,” Steve says. He was released from the hospital, and date night at his place in front of the television with Italian takeaway and microwave popcorn after was pretty much the best quickest option for the two of them. “Have I blown it up like you blew up that HYDRA compound in _Winter Soldier III_?”

“That’s what my agent would have me believe,” Bucky says, “but I think the only one who’s got an exploded career on his hands is him. I might get good roles now. Were you worried?”

“I was,” Steve laughs.

“I’ve wanted out for a long time and I would have found a way no matter what,” Bucky says. “Wouldn’t have been as much fun, though.”

Bucky hasn’t felt this good in ages. Part of it has to do that he was pulled abruptly from every public appearance he didn’t want to do for the next two months, and now he has an absurd amount of time on his hands.

But it’s mostly Steve, who has been on Bucky’s thoughts since they first met. He’s so _good_ , kind and hardworking and funny. He’s exactly the kind of guy Bucky cannot ever hope to be, and though Bucky knows it, it doesn’t make him feel like shit. It actually makes him feel good, that someone like Steve would even have the patience for someone like him.

And he feels right curled up against Bucky’s side, wearing a thick cabled sweater at Sam’s behest. Only Natasha has felt this right, and the jury’s still out on whether Bucky could even like her that way after their short but romantically alienating first try at dating. But with Steve, there’s no pressure, no obligation to continue. No tabloid articles that mention wedding bells or baby bumps or tempestuous break ups. There’s just Steve. He can share a long silence with Steve and it’s not weird, it’s comfortable.

“This song’s in the show,” Bucky says as Audrey Hepburn begins to sing ‘How Long Has This Been Going On’.

“Yeah,” Steve says. “I like Sharon’s version better.”

But Audrey Hepburn is hypnotizing in her rendition. They watch her until the end.

“So you and Sharon,” Bucky says, not really expecting an answer.

“Yeah,” Steve says. “We were pretty serious for a couple of years.”

“Wow, what happened?”

“She fell in love,” Steve shrugs, “with Leila. She couldn’t love us both.”

“Does that usually happen? Do people you’re with just fall in love?” Bucky asks. Steve looks at him. “You seem used to it, is all.”

“People feel like they need to look for the right person,” Steve says. “They don’t want to settle. And apparently for a lot of the people I’ve dated, I’m settling.”

Steve says it like it’s nothing, like it’s completely fair he get left out in the cold. Bucky feels his fist clench, like he’s the Winter Soldier.

“And you’re not… you don’t resent that line of thinking?” he asks. “I haven’t been dating you very long, but you’re… god, you’re a catch, you know?”

“I don’t know,” Steve says flippantly. “Tell me more.”

Bucky stutters, feels himself redden, because he can’t really verbalize at this point. He hasn’t the words. Steve laughs at him, not maliciously.

“Fucking with you,” he promises. “I get that you’re smitten.”

“How could I not be,” Bucky says very seriously, and Steve laughs again.

They’re back to watching the movie, still halfway through their bowl of popcorn. Sam comes in, enigmatic smile on his face and letter in hand. Steve looks up from the movie.

“Who’s that from?” he asks, tease clear in his voice, and Bucky looks up too.

“Nobody special,” Sam lies, and disappears to his office. Bucky turns to Steve.

“He wrote Natasha Romanov,” he explains, grabbing some popcorn. “I told him she’d write back, but he didn’t believe me. He’s just hiding because he doesn’t want to admit that she did.”

“Of course she would,” Bucky says. “She loves his plays a lot. She probably craves a correspondence that has the potential to become prolific and world-famous. London will do that to you.”

“You should tell him that. He’s got a huge art crush on her. He calls it inspiration and admiration, but it’s really a crush,” Steve says.

“Oh my god, you little shit, it is _not_ a crush,” Sam yells from his office. Steve rolls his eyes, and eats his popcorn.


	15. Chapter 15

Dear Sam,

Thank you for writing me. Your gift was very thoughtful and I’ll take good care of your script. I won’t wager which one of my friends it was who told me I like your work, because there is no doubt it was Barnes and that wouldn’t be a fair bet in the least. I _am_ interested to know if he told you before or after he began wooing your friend.

I love London and you are absolutely right; it will be a wonder to open here in front of an audience I’ve never acted for before and alongside people I could not admire more. Peggy Carter is a revelation, one of the most beautiful people I’ve met. Everyone should meet you.

Have you visited London? I know your plays have. It would be an honour to have you in the audience here some time, but I understand the playwright’s life can often be a frugal one. I believe you will be one of the first to know, but my play is being broadcast in cinemas worldwide. If you cannot make it to London for the premiere, certainly try to make it to your movie theatre instead. I hope you’ll be watching either way!

I certainly hope you don’t mind my writing back. I have not been in the market for letter-writing lately; the Internet has given me better ways to stay updated with my friends and family. But there is something more personal about writing someone. When I was little I had a stamp collection and penpals from all over the world so the stamps would be as different as could be.

Is this a long enough letter? I’m sure you’re used to correspondences of more substance.

Natasha Romanov

\--

Dear Natasha,

Your letter was a pleasant surprise, and considering how few those can be, I am very grateful. It was indeed Bucky that told me that you liked my writing. I was flattered, to say the least, though it was five in the morning and he was still kind of drunk. Incidentally, he and Steve are pretty together now, and it is alternately adorable and horrifying.

I have not yet been to London, though I would love to visit one day and get a look at the theatre there. Amazing that you’re working with Peggy Carter; I saw her when she came to Broadway with _The Trojan Women_ and it was a genuine experience. I have to go to La Jolla soon to supervise my new script there during its workshop, but I’m sure there’s theatres in California that will be showing your play, and I will endeavor to see it!

Speaking of, I am sending you the address I’ll have for the next couple months. I would like for us to write each other regularly.

Looks like I’m even briefer than you. To fill out the envelope I’ve got you an advance Playbill with Steve’s boy’s face on it.

Sam Wilson  
\--

Dear Sam,

Did Bucky entice you into seeing his movie at five in the morning? It is his favourite thing to do when he’s drunk and can’t sleep. But he mostly reserves that behaviour for his crushes. I hope Steve likes late late night movies.

Thank you by the way for the Playbill. And signed! How very thoughtful of Mr. Barnes.

I don’t see Steve much in the press, despite the fact that he is dating Bucky. So instead of the paparazzi, it falls to you to give me a good second, third impression of that young man. I saw him on stage and though it is my sincere belief we see the best of each other when we act, surely you know the skeletons he has in his closet, if any. I am fairly protective of my friend, and I am sure you yours.

Tell me about your La Jolla project! I’m really excited to hear that you’re writing another play, and the information at the theatre’s website remains oblique. I cannot attend the workshop, obviously, but I would love to see the fullscale production.

I need to try and write a longer letter next time!

Natasha Romanov

\--

Dear Natasha,

You don’t have to worry about Bucky. Steve is probably the best man I know, and he is absolutely as smitten with Bucky as Bucky is with him. When I left for California, they were still over the moon with one another and I don’t think that’s going to change.

Let me tell you about how I met Steve, actually. I think that our first meeting tells a lot about the kind of guy he is. We actually met because he was auditioning for my first show in New York. He comes in, all ninety pounds of him, and he’s got a fresh shiner and a split lip. He doesn’t mention it at all until I ask if he’s okay. Turns out he tried to stop a mugging on his way to the audition, and managed to prevent it by acting as a human shield of sorts.

He did not get the role (not because of lack of talent; he just didn’t fit), but we met pretty soon after and he quickly became one of my dearest friends. In our first meeting, I learned that stupid bravery is the predominant characteristic of Steve Rogers, followed closely by remarkable talent that he’s cultivated for years.

As for the play, to be quite honest I’m glad that there’s a workshop that I can use as a buffer. The play’s second draft is completed, but it feels aimless. The actors are great, but they can only do so much with what they’re given. I think I’ve run up on a block, and I need some kind of new perspective.

It’s not usually this difficult for me to produce new work, and I think that’s part of the problem; I’ve never really been in a situation where I haven’t seen where the play goes by the second or third draft. Maybe I just haven’t found the right person to talk it through with. The guy I used to talk about writing with isn’t here anymore and I guess that’s thrown me for a loop.

I’ll write more soon! These workshops are taking up a lot of time.

Sam Wilson


	16. Chapter 16

“You’re going to be great,” Steve says with the quiet confidence of someone who knows what they’re talking about, but Bucky can’t really believe him. “You’ve worked so hard these past few months.”

They’re in Bucky’s dressing room, which is fairly sparse except for Bucky’s costumes and a couple photos of his family he keeps in the frame of his mirror so he can look at something that’s not his own worried face.

“Nobody thinks I can do this,” Bucky says.

“I do. The cast does,” Steve says. “And Natasha sent you five texts telling you to break a leg so I think she thinks you can do it too.”

“Yeah,” Bucky says with a deep breath. “Yeah.”

“I’ll be watching you the whole time,” Steve says, gesturing to the television that broadcasts the show into the dressing room. He gets up and plants a soft kiss on Bucky’s cheek. “And I’ll be here when you finish.”

That actually relaxes Bucky more than anything anyone else could say. Twenty minutes to call, and he finally gets into his zone.

Steve watches him, impressed by this transformation he’s only seen a couple times before. Bucky has a way of getting into character that is very still and yet speaks of endless transformations underneath. His eyes focus on different things now, his posture changes. And, five minutes before call, he gets up and kisses Steve in a familiar but wholly unfamiliar way.

“I’ll see you after the show, then?” he says quietly. Steve nods, a small smile creeping up on his lips. And Bucky’s off.

In even the worst, most hackneyed films, Bucky was _(is)_ beautiful and so emotional. On stage it’s different. Steve can feel it even though he’s only watching through the spotty television. Bucky’s charming, his warm voice fills the audience, and his dances are nearly perfect. Intermission comes with one of the loudest applauses Steve’s ever heard for a halfway point and he’s so _proud_ of Bucky it’s nearly bursting out his chest.

“That boy of yours is something,” Maria says, popping her head in with a huge grin. “Knew he could learn a dance pretty quickly but I didn’t know he had _all that_!”

“Sometimes I don’t think he knows either,” Steve says, just as Bucky sidles in, forehead gleaming from stage sweat and eyes twinkling and Steve wishes for a split second he’d stayed in art school because Bucky is gorgeous at this moment. Maria looks between them and then ducks out.

“That was amazing,” Bucky says. “I feel amazing.”

“You still have another act to do,” Steve says with a dismissive shrug, but his wide smile betrays him. “You’ve been incredible so far.”

“I think I’m in love you,” Bucky continues, laughing as a blush reaches his cheeks. “I was singin’ for you.”

“You… you were?” Steve says. Nobody has ever sung for him, out of all the people in the business he’s dated, though he’s sung for many.

“Yeah,” Bucky says. “And I could sing for you for a real long time. Is this weird? Is it too soon for me to be saying things like this?”

“No. It’s…” Steve breaks off because he really doesn’t know what to say. “It’s just right,” he finishes, voice choking a little. Because he was _scared_ , scared he would never have this depth of emotion directed at him, and how it feels when Bucky looks at him this way is everything he’d hoped.

“Hey,” Bucky says, brow furrowing. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“How could you upset me, you big jerk,” Steve laughs tremulously. “God, I just, you’re the first one.”

Bucky kisses Steve again, hands burying themselves in the folds of the scarf that Steve’s wearing to protect his throat.

“We’re going to talk about this some more,” he promises. “But I’ve got to get back on stage. See you after Act Two?”

“Yeah,” Steve says. He can’t wipe the goofy grin off his face, which is warm from the blush he’s sure goes down to his belly button. “See you then.”

Steve sits down when Bucky leaves, feeling lightheaded and short of breath but not needing his inhaler. Soon, there’s applause as the curtains go up for Act Two and Bucky goes on and once again convinces everyone wholly of a world where people sing and dance when they emote.

Steve’s in love. Big, romantic love which usually comes with anxiety and heartache but today feels like Glenn Miller and his band or Sam’s best homemade soup. And it’s better because he knows this is what Bucky feels, knows he’s not just a stop on the way to someone better.

Sharon sings ‘How Long Has This Been Going On?’ Steve thinks her version is best.

Later, after dodging the press and well-wishers for a solid hour, they are dancing in Natasha Romanov’s apartment where Bucky is staying for the rest of his theatre engagement. It’s an old Irving Berlin chestnut, one of Steve’s favourites. His eyes are closed and his head leans against Bucky’s chest and it’s a good feeling, just the music and Bucky’s presence.

“It’s going to be okay,” Bucky finally says, his voice thrumming through his chest and against Steve’s head. “You know, for the first time in ages, I think I’m going to be okay.”


	17. Chapter 17

Sam has never been in a cinema to watch a theatrical event before, and he’s got to say it has its advantages. He has a medium popcorn balanced in his lap and the audience is not nearly as pretentious or reverent as a typical theatre audience is.

It is easier to get away from his work in a movie theatre than in another stage space. Sam sometimes needs that separation, and his time in La Jolla has been stressful, if very interesting.

The lights in the house darken, and Emily Carrow appears on the screen, backstage at the theatre miles away in London.

“I am so pleased to be presenting the National Theatre’s first live cinema broadcast of Noel Coward’s _Blithe Spirit_. Such an incredible show, and an amazing cast. In particular, the ladies of _Blithe Spirit_ are brought to vivid life, and afterlife by some fine actresses,” she says with a grin. “At intermission, I will be speaking with Natasha Romanov, just one of our lovely leading ladies. But until then, please wait with our London audience for the first act of Coward’s witty comedy, bubbly like champagne.”

And then the play begins. As soon as Natasha, in the shoes of the protagonist’s dead wife, steps through the set’s living room window like Peter Pan, Sam is sucked in. He forgets this is Natasha Romanov, the awkward and talented lady he’s been writing for a few weeks now, and instead believes that she is that character, arched insinuating eyebrows and a plummy British accent to match.

It’s only at intermission when Emily Carrow joins Natasha backstage that Sam is shaken from the illusion.

“Natasha Romanov,” she says. “You are working with such a distinguished cast, especially Peggy Carter, who’s been positively incandescent this evening. What’s it like working with an actress like Dame Carter?”

“It’s a gift, truly,” Natasha says. “Peggy’s been a dream to work with, and I’ve learned so much from the rehearsal process with her.”

“What a wonderful thing to hear,” Carrow says. “After your successful film career, I think everyone was rather surprised when you turned almost exclusively to stage.”

“Well, it’s becoming a more popular career choice lately,” Natasha says with a smile, and it’s clear that’s exactly what Carrow wanted.

“James Barnes, for instance?” she says. “He’s been doing very well for himself on Broadway, I hear.”

“You’d have to ask him,” Natasha says coyly. “We’re such good friends he only ever complains to me.”

Sam laughs, and so he misses Carrow’s next question.

“…Sam Wilson, I think, is one of the best playwrights working today,” Natasha says, and Sam can see a bit of colour reach her cheeks even with the stage makeup on. “I hope to be better acquainted with him when I go back to New York.”

“And what projects do you have lined up in New York?” Carrow asks.

“Oh, I don’t know, Emily,” Natasha says, and her eyes meet the camera. “My schedule is wide open.”

Sam is floating during Act Two, and as he’s walking home from the movie, he finally, finally! gets an idea for the play.


	18. Chapter 18

“Sam’s been texting me all day,” Steve says. It’s Bucky’s night off and they’ve hazarded going out to eat, an Italian place Steve has never been before because it’s fairly expensive. They’re stowed in the corner for minimum chance of being bombarded by nosy reporters. “Three guesses who about. First two don’t count.”

“Natasha Romanov,” Bucky says after pretending to think. “Now ask me who Nat’s been texting me about nonstop.”

“No kidding!” Steve says. “We have to get these two together. They are stupid in love.”

“God, they really are,” Bucky laughs. “When does Sam get back from La Jolla?”

“In a month. Workshop wraps up by then.”

“Around the same time Natasha comes back from her play,” Bucky says. “Are we doing this? Are we going to be their queer fairy godparents?”

“Sounds good to me,” Steve laughs.

When his hand reaches over the table to clasp Bucky’s, Bucky doesn’t pull away. Public displays of affection were a struggle with Bucky, who had been living in the closet for so long that he didn’t know what was safe and what wasn’t. Steve doesn’t push, figures Bucky will find out what he’s comfortable with at his own speed.

“This is nice,” Steve says, taking a piece of bread from the basket.

“Didn’t your mama tell you not to fill up on bread, Rogers?” Bucky says, eyes twinkling.

“You think because I’m tiny, I don’t have an appetite,” Steve says. “And that’s where you’re wrong.”

“I like seeing you eat,” Bucky says.

Steve’s been on the mend for ages now but sometimes food is still a bit of a production. And to Steve’s delight, though it started as affectionate exasperation, Bucky is a goddamn momma bear when he worries about Steve’s health. It’s not overbearing, or condescending, it’s just genuine worry and more than tolerable doting. Steve actually likes being fussed over sometimes, though he’ll never admit it. And Bucky fusses in the best way.

Dinner is great, though Steve does end up boxing a good portion of his entrée at the end, much to Bucky’s amusement. Clint finally showed up a couple days ago to watch Natasha’s apartment and Steve’s place is closer, so they end up crashing there.

There hasn’t been much sex. Steve had previously admitted, like it was something to be guilty about, that he didn’t like it unless it was with the right partner. He doesn’t really have a term for it, though he wears asexual just as well as demisexual most days, and Bucky is more than happy to wait, even for something that might never come to pass.

Instead he lets Steve run his fingers through his hair, is the grateful recipient of many a theatre actor level back massage. Steve informs him, every night, that he has a shitton of stress in his shoulders and upper back. Bucky can’t say he doesn’t know where it all comes from; the lawsuit from Pierce has been closing in and lingering paranoia from being in the closet for years wakes him up sometimes.

Bucky sometimes has dreams about being the Winter Soldier. They aren’t good dreams. But he just lets them go, tries to. Though he loves Steve, and trusts him, he doesn’t want to unload this residual weirdness on someone so kind and so new in his life. He misses Natasha, who didn’t understand, but was always good to listen.


	19. Chapter 19

Natasha is glad to be in New York again. London was wonderful, but only really to visit. She has photoshoots and play offers waiting for her in the Big Apple that she’s going to wade through as soon as she conquers her horrendous jetlag.

When she comes to her flat, instead of Clint, she finds Bucky and Steve crashing on her couch, and god they’re adorable, aren’t they? She sets her bags down and fights the urge to make a beeline to her room and collapse.

“Hi, loser,” she says, “And hi, Steve.”

“Hey,” Bucky says with a laugh, and extricates himself from Steve’s gentle grasp before going to greet Natasha. “How was London?”

“Beautiful, but I’m glad to be home,” Natasha says, letting Bucky hug him. “Look at you. You look don’t look like shit anymore.”

“I don’t feel like shit anymore,” Bucky says with a smile. “You’ve met Steve.”

“Briefly,” Natasha says, and Steve blushes. “He’s still very cute. You’re almost in his league, Barnes. Do you guys want to share a pizza with me? I’m tired but mostly hungry.”

“Pizza sounds good,” Bucky says, after looking at Steve, who shrugs expansively.

“Great, you’re getting it for me. Been craving Fredo’s since I crossed the Atlantic, and they don’t deliver,” Natasha says, fishing her last American twenty from her wallet and stuffing it in Bucky’s hand. “I want a large pizza that’s half a cheese and half a meatlovers’. Extra cheese.”

“Okay, your highness,” Bucky says. “Did you want garlic loaf too?”

“Yes,” Natasha says with an eyeroll. “But mostly I want time alone with your boyfriend so I can speak with him.”

“Aw man, good luck,” Bucky says to Steve, leaves laughing. Natasha watches him go, and then turns to Steve, arms crossed. Steve, to his credit, holds his ground, though his eyes widen slightly.

“You’ve been dating him a few weeks, so I figure you know he’s a big sensitive dork with self-esteem issues,” she says.

“Yeah,” Steve says.

“And I don’t know much about you, except you’re cute and talented and that Bucky is absolutely in love with you,” Natasha continues. “I hope to get to know you better soon. I hope you’re every bit the guy he thinks you are. Because if you’re not…”

She doesn’t finish the sentence. They have an understanding. She stares a while at Steve, and then smiles.

“So did you two ever find out where I stash my alcohol?” she asks. “Come with me if you want to try the hard stuff that I had to smuggle in from my last Moscow premiere.”

Bucky comes back with the pizza and the garlic loaf, and finds his boyfriend and best friend at the kitchen table, cute noses red with drink and giggling, laughter only getting louder when they see him.

“Uh-oh, swapping stories?” he says, putting the pizza down and heading to the kitchen to get plates. He is enough of a square that he can’t fathom eating anything without a plate. “Tasha, I hope you didn’t feed my boyfriend that firewater you stuffed down your bra in Moscow.”

“Well I did, you took too long with the pizza,” Natasha says. “Worst delivery boy ever.”

“At least I’m the cutest one,” Bucky says, kissing Steve on his drunkred nose as he sits down.

“Maybe,” Natasha says dubiously. “After a couple more drinks, you might get in my top five.”

“I’m wounded,” Bucky says. “But I guess I can’t touch Sam Wilson.”

“Oh _my God_ ,” Natasha says, her entire face going red. “Don’t _even_. Don’t mention Sam Wilson and his pretty face to me ever again, you dork. He’s so great! I don’t know how you even live with him? What’s that like?”

She’s directing the last question at Steve, who grins.

“Pretty great. He’s a good cook and he’s got this amazing smile,” he says. “Plus all he ever talks about is you.”

“No,” Natasha says. “You’re a liar, Steve Rogers.”

“Oh yeah? Because he’s been in California for weeks now, and all he texts me for is to share something cool you said in an interview, or did in your play,” Steve says. “And when he’s back in New York, three days from now, he’s going to want to see you but he’ll be too shy to ask.”

“So it’s on you,” Bucky says to Natasha, who’s put two slices of her pizza on her plate while she stares at Steve.

“You’re super sweet to care about your friend, Steve, but he and I,” she says, pauses. “We’re not really looking for that just now. He wrote to me about Riley and we agreed it would probably be better to wait it out.”

“Wait what out?” Steve says. “He’s been waiting for years.”

“I know,” Natasha says with a sad smile. “He’s waiting on me now.”

She takes another drink, and puts the shot glass down with measured grace. She feels weird and sad, strangely imposing when she curls up on Bucky to eat her pizza. She and Bucky never worked out, never will, but she feels regret anyway, a bit of jealousy directed at Steve, who’s lovely and darling and so damn lucky does he even realize.

But she is in love with Sam, who is unavailable, though he loves to write.

But she is in love with Bucky, who is unavailable, but finally smiling and hasn’t texted her in the middle of the night with panicky half-formed thoughts since he met Steve.

And she could love Steve, who is kind and sweet and obviously a catch.

What’s happening here?


	20. Chapter 20

“How long have you had this cold?” the doctor asks sympathetically.

“Maybe a couple of weeks,” Steve says with an abashed smile, looking over the pile of paperwork on the desk. “I think I caught it from my boyfriend. I just wanted to see if I needed an antibiotic or something, I barely think that we need all this other…”

“This is honestly all just follow up from your last physical and then your last major illness, Steve,” the doctor says. “I’m surprised you haven’t had a call from our offices recently. There’s a few things of concern here that require your attention.”

Steve sighs and kicks his feet the walk home because he’s been expecting this news for a while, and to an extent he knows that someone with his health issues and disabilities essentially moved stars to get on Broadway in the first place, but he didn’t want it to end so soon.

But apparently his lungs are getting worse and he’ll need a leg brace soon and his ears need to be tested again. 

He hasn’t texted Bucky, and honestly doesn’t know if he’s up for his high-energy boyfriend just now. So he walks into his apartment and goes directly to his room and lies down on the bed. Maybe he’ll just rest for a while, feel like eating after sleep.

Steve has the dream about becoming so small that he becomes nothing again, and wakes up in the late evening. He can hear Sam typing on his computer and muttering to the romcom he’s put on for ambient noise, which means Sam’s _back_ from California and that Steve should probably at least try to welcome him back.

Steve stumbles out of his bed and walks into the living room, smiling at Sam, who looks up from a bowl of soup.

“Hey, long time no see!” he grins. “Got back a little early so I figured I’d just get myself back into the routine as soon as I could.”

“How was California?” Steve asks.

“Warm,” Sam says wistfully. “Then I got back to New York and there was fucking snow. No fair. Are you all right? You look a little peaky.”

“Got back from the doctor’s,” Steve shrugs. “No good news.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Sam says. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“Not really,” Steve shrugs, and sits down beside Sam. “I was going to try and work up an appetite or text Bucky or something? I don’t know.”

He feels off-balance, like when the leg that bothers him gives and he nearly falls on his face.

“Hey, come here,” Sam says. His hug is warm and grounds Steve somewhat.

“This isn’t fair,” he mutters. “You just got back and you deserve a break from my health bullshit at least once.”

“That’s okay,” Sam says. “We deal with each other’s bullshit on a pretty 40/60 basis.”

“40/60 huh,” Steve says, laughing shakily, looking up at Sam’s face.

“Well yeah,” Sam grins.

And then they’re kissing. Steve breaks away first, eyes widening and mouth working silently for a second.

“God, I’m sorry,” he says, looks close to tears. “I don’t know why I did that.”

“You should probably call Bucky,” Sam says, sitting up and trying not to think about what Steve’s lips felt like on his. Steve gets up and starts walking to his room, and then pauses at the doorway.

“I love you,” he says, and his face crumples before he retreats into his room. Sam watches him, and then covers his face with his hand.

“Fuck,” he mutters. “What the _fuck_.”

It’s his first kiss since Riley, and he’s the one who started it. He’s tired to the bone from travel and would like to do nothing more than just sit here and vegetate in front of romcoms, but he also needs to go out.

Sam pulls on his jacket and shoes and leaves. He doesn’t know where he’s walking to, but he finds himself in front of a movie theatre in Brooklyn, with cheap ticket prices. He walks up to the box office.

“Ticket for whatever’s showing next,” he says, pushing a crumpled ten through the hole in the glass. The pimpled attendant looks at the schedule.

“That’s _Casablanca_ ,” he says skeptically.

“Then I’ll watch _Casablanca_. It’s fine,” Sam says.

He shuffles into the nearly empty theatre with a bag of popcorn and a bottled water, because fuck the environment, honestly.

“Oh hey!” someone says cheerfully from the aisle. Sam looks up and sees Bucky, who’s got a big bag of popcorn and a bigger smile, realizes with a sinking feeling that the reason the cinema felt so familiar was because this is the one Bucky took him to in the wee hours of the morning. “Mind if I sit with you?”

“No, not at all,” Sam says with a shrug. Fuck it, day can’t get any weirder, he figures.

“You must have just got back from La Jolla,” Bucky says. “Have you been home yet?”

“Yeah,” Sam says. “Got restless.”

“I know the feeling,” Bucky says. “For some reason sitting still in a theatre helps me, though.”

There’s a petty part of Sam that wants to kiss Bucky, have his second pair of lips in as many years, and it’s the same part that wants to cry because he kissed his best friend while he was exhausted and drained.

_And then Steve said he loved him._

“Sam, you okay?” Bucky asks, bright eyes turning to him and concerned. Looks like the crying part of Sam won out.

“No,” he says. “I fucked up, Bucky.”

“Oh,” Bucky says. “Oh God, okay. Do you want to talk about it? Is it legal trouble?”

“No, I um,” Sam stutters. “Steve’s had some bad news, and I… I kissed him.”

Bucky’s face falls, and Sam just feels like shit.

“I should probably call Steve,” Bucky says, getting up just as the lights of the cinema are going down.

“I’m sorry, it shouldn’t have happened,” Sam says.

“I…” Bucky falters, and stuffs his hands in his jacket pockets. “I don’t even know if…”

He shakes his head, frustrated, and walks away.


End file.
